


Three's Company

by MimiWritesHerFandoms



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Drinking, F/M, Mild Language, mentions of cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-12-30 20:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12116517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MimiWritesHerFandoms/pseuds/MimiWritesHerFandoms
Summary: After breaking up with your fiance, you’re forced to move in with your twin brother, Bucky, and his best friend and roommate, Steve. Living with your brother is one thing. Living with the man you’ve harbored a crush on for the majority of your life is another. What could possibly go wrong?





	1. His Sister's Keeper

 

“Bucky!” You pounded harder on the thick wooden door, so hard your hand ached. “Bucky!” You waited two heartbeats before you started pounding again, this time with both fists. “James Buchanan Barnes, open the goddamn door!” you screamed.

The door flew open, your twin brother holding it, wearing nothing but his boxers, his hair standing on end, his blue eyes flashing. You’d always been jealous that he’d gotten the bluest of blue eyes, and you’d gotten, well, yours.

“What the hell, Y/N?” he snapped. “Are you drunk?”

You pushed past him, hitting him in the gut with your elbow, and threw yourself on his couch, your hands over your face. Your backpack, the only thing you’d managed to grab when you’d left, fell over and hit the floor, and that's when the tears came, the tears you’d been holding back ever since you’d walked into your apartment and seen Brock with that woman. You still weren’t sure how you’d gotten to Bucky’s, but you weren’t surprised you’d ended up here; Bucky was your rock, always there when you needed him. 

A door on the other side of the living room opened and a familiar face appeared. “What is going on out here?” Bucky’s roommate, Steve, muttered sleepily. 

He took a couple steps out of the room, and you couldn’t help but notice that he was also in nothing but his boxers. You opened your mouth to tell him, and your brother, to put on some damn clothes, but before you could, Steve was across the room, his hand on your shoulder, his blue eyes flashing with concern. 

“Y/N, are you crying?” he murmured.

“Crying?” Bucky vaulted over the back of the couch, landing beside you. “What happened?”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to talk about it,” you muttered.

“You show up at our door at two in the morning, pounding on it loud enough to wake up everyone in the complex, and you don’t want to talk about it?” Bucky scoffed. “I don’t think so.” He put his arm around you, hugging you close. “What did that asshole Brock do now?”

That was when you lost it, falling into Bucky’s arms, the tears pouring down your face, the story of finding Brock in your bed with another woman coming out between the sobs and the curses. When it was all out, you fell back against the couch, hiccuping sobs still leaving you, tears and snot all over your face, bearing the hefty stares of one sympathetic friend and a pissed off brother.

“I’m going to kill him,” Bucky growled. He was pacing back and forth in front of the couch, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his brow furrowed, anger radiating off of him in waves. “I’m literally going to kill him.”

“Bucky -” you sighed, shaking your head.

“When are you going to stop allowing him to treat you like crap, Y/N?” your brother snapped. “When?”

“I, I...he’s my fiance, Bucky,” you bit out. “I’m supposed to marry him.”

“He’s your fiance in name only. You’ve been engaged for more than a year and you haven’t set a date. He makes excuse after excuse to avoid the subject. He’s always drinking, he can’t keep a job, he’s making your life a living hell. What more does he need to do? How much shit is he going to put you through before you decide you’ve had enough?” Bucky yelled. “When are you going to figure out that you deserve better?”

You shot to your feet. “Stop yelling at me!” you screamed. “I’ve had a really bad day!” You took a threatening step towards your brother, the urge to slap his perfect face overwhelming you.

Steve leapt from the couch and stepped between you and Bucky, his arm going around your waist, a hand on Bucky’s chest, keeping the two of you apart. “Alright, you two, that’s enough,” he said. “I think we’ve all had enough excitement for one night. Why don’t we all get some sleep and we’ll pick this up in the morning?”

Bucky shot a glare your direction, slapped his friend’s hand away, and stalked across the room, the slam of his bedroom door echoing through the small apartment. Steve released you with an apologetic shrug. He opened a drawer in a bureau against the wall and pulled out some sheets, tossing them your way.

“Thanks, Steve,” you mumbled. Your brother’s best friend had always been the consummate good guy. Sometimes you hated that about him.

“Get some sleep, fight with Buck in the morning.” He was almost to his room when he turned to look back at you. “Bucky’s right, you know. You deserve better.”

* * *

The smell of strong coffee pulled you from sleep the next morning. You pushed yourself up on your elbows, squinting as the light hit your eyes. Steve was in the kitchen, wearing running shorts, a zip up hoodie with no shirt under it, and running shoes, a pair of those wireless headphones around his neck, his normally neatly combed hair in disarray, an odd look on his face as he pulled coffee cups from the cupboard. 

You sat up and rubbed your eyes. They felt gritty and puffy, your head was pounding, and your throat was dry. You pushed yourself off the couch, wrapped one of the sheets around your waist, snatched your jeans off the floor, and stumbled into the bathroom. Ten minutes later you emerged to find a cup of coffee sitting on the scuffed and marred coffee table, along with several sugar packets from Denny’s and those little creamer cups. Steve was sitting on the couch, remote in his hand, the other sheet and the blanket you’d been using bunched up beside him, forming a barrier between the two of you when you sat down.

“Thanks for the coffee,” you said, a ghost of a smile on your face. You loved that he knew exactly how you took your coffee, knew just how to make you smile. Steve had always been unbelievably nice, always treating you like you were just as important to him as Bucky. The two of you had always been close - not as close as he and Bucky - but close nonetheless. He was one of your best friends and you loved him.

“You’re welcome,” Steve answered, flipping through the channels, finally stopping on ESPN. “Sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” you shrugged. “I guess.” You picked at some invisible lint on the leg of your jeans. You’d walked out of your apartment with nothing more than your backpack and purse - no clothes, no makeup, not much money - so you’d had an uncomfortable night sleeping in your tank top and underwear, constantly concerned that Steve would wander out and get a glimpse of your less than perfect form. Just the thought that he’d possibly seen you sprawled across the couch in your underwear made heat rise in your chest and flood your cheeks. 

“Look, I’m sorry you had to get involved in that between me and Bucky last night,” you murmured.

“Not the first time I broke up a fight between you two,” Steve chuckled. “Remember that time in third grade when he switched lunches on you?”

“Oh my god, yes!” you giggled, the image of the three of you in grade school floating through your head. Steve had weighed maybe thirty pounds soaking wet, you’d still been wearing pigtails, and Bucky had had a bowl haircut that you still teased him about. “He wanted my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, so he switched our lunch bags so I got his bologna sandwich. I hate bologna. Hate it.”

“You chased him around the lunchroom three times, almost caught him, too,” Steve added.

“But you jumped in front of me and shoved your lunch in my hands,” you finished. “Peanut butter and jelly.”

“And Bucky lived to see another day,” Steve said. He cleared his throat. “You know, I hate bologna, too.”

“Really?” you asked. “I didn’t know that. Pretty sure you ate Buck’s lunch that day, though.”

“Yeah, I did,” he shrugged.

You didn’t get a chance to say anything else because your twin emerged from his bedroom and made a beeline for your side. He pushed the pile of blankets out of the way to sit beside you, scooping your hands up and holding them tightly in his own.

“I’m sorry I yelled,” Bucky said.

“It’s okay,” you smiled gently. “I get it. You’re my big brother -”

“By eight minutes,” he reminded you.

“- so you worry about me,” you finished. “And you’re right. Both of you,” you peeked around him to look at Steve, who was unsuccessfully pretending not to listen, “I do deserve better.” You dragged in a deep breath. “So, I’m done. I’m gonna leave Brock, for good this time.”

“Yes,” Bucky cheered, pumping his fist in the air. “It’s about time. I’ll help you move out. We’ll go tonight and get all your stuff.” He jumped off the couch, dancing a little. “Wait? Are you going to move back home?”

Just the thought made your head hurt more. You couldn’t move back home, not now, not after living on your own since college. Living under your parent’s roof did not sound appealing. Your entire life was here, in the city. You didn’t want to go back to Brooklyn. The only problem was, you didn’t have anywhere else to go.

The look on your face must have clued your brother in to your feelings, because he knelt in front of you. “You can stay here as long as you need to, until you’re back on your feet. Right, Steve?” He smacked his friend on the leg. 

Steve shot a weird look your way, mumbled something that sounded like “yeah” under his breath, then he catapulted himself off the couch and disappeared into the bathroom, the shower turning on a few seconds later. Bucky watched him leave the room, the same odd look on his face, but as soon as the door closed behind him, a huge grin spread across his face.

“This is gonna be fun,” he laughed.


	2. A Friend in Need

 

_ “You can stay here as long as you need to, until you’re back on your feet. Right, Steve?” He smacked his friend on the leg.  _

_ Steve shot a weird look your way, mumbled something that sounded like “yeah” under his breath, then he catapulted himself off the couch and disappeared into the bathroom, the shower turning on a few seconds later. Bucky watched him leave the room, the same odd look on his face, but as soon as the door closed behind him, a huge grin spread across his face. _

_ “This is gonna be fun,” he laughed. _

* * *

Bucky may have been his best friend, but sometimes Steve felt like he was his worst enemy. Letting Y/N stay with them for one night, maybe two, was one thing, but inviting her to live with them, that was something completely different. He knew how Steve felt about his sister, had known for years. He’d just gone and invited the woman who’d held Steve’s heart in her hands since kindergarten to come and live with them.

“I’m not going to survive this,” he muttered to himself. He turned the water in the shower to cold, trying to get the memory of Y/N sleeping on their couch out of his head, the sheets tangled around her legs, her panties stark white against her tanned skin, her tank top pushed up beneath her breasts, her hand splayed across her stomach. After that sight, he’d had to run an extra two miles. At least by the time he returned to the apartment, she’d pulled the sheet over herself. Of course, five minutes later, she had stood up, stretched, dragged the sheet around herself, and gone in the bathroom. That was another sight that would fuel his fantasies for a while.

He shut the water off, grabbed the towel from the bar, and wiped off the water droplets enough to keep from dripping on the hardwood floors. He wrapped it around his waist and threw open the bathroom door, only to find Y/N standing right in front of him, her mouth dropping open and a blush coloring her cheeks. Surprised, he took a step back, one corner of the towel slipping out of his hands, exposing his backside, the front still barely covered by the towel. 

“Shit,” he mumbled, scrambling to pull the towel back around himself. He secured it in place, clutching it so tightly his knuckles ached. “Sorry, Y/N.” He pushed past her, diving into his room and kicking the door closed. 

Yeah, this was gonna be fun.

* * *

If you were going to live in an apartment with two boys, there were going to have to be some ground rules laid out. First and foremost, no one leaves the bathroom without clothes on. Towels didn’t count. Your heart had nearly stopped when Steve’s towel had slipped and you’d gotten an eyeful. And damn, if he hadn’t grown up, in all the right places. Sometimes when you looked at him, you still saw the skinny kid who Bucky considered his best friend, who had  _ always  _ been at your house, who plotted pranks with your twin, who slept on couch cushions on Bucky’s bedroom floor, the kid who sometimes took your brother away from you when you needed him most. You forgot that the skinny kid had grown up to be the hulking two hundred forty pound, six foot two inch tall man with muscles bursting from the seams of his shirt, and an ass that was just made for biting.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Your crush on Steve was so four years ago, so sophomore year of college. You’d moved on. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about things like Steve’s made-for-biting ass. You had Brock.

Except you didn’t have Brock, not anymore. The realization was like a slap to the face. That skinny girl with her legs in the air, moaning like a porn star while your fiance screwed her ten ways to Sunday had Brock. You didn’t have anyone.

You laid down on the couch and pulled the blankets over your head. You were going to stay here, buried under the covers until your brother got home from work. Maybe then you would deal with the shambles your life had become.

You called in sick to work, and once the boys had left, you turned on some Disney movie you found on Netflix. You dug a box of Lucky Charms out of the cupboard and proceeded to eat more than half of it while sitting on the couch, a box of tissues tucked up against the side of your leg.

You’d been with Brock since college, the beginning of your junior year. If you were being honest with yourself, you’d started dating him to get over Steve, once you’d realized that was never going to go anywhere, not when you were convinced that he only saw you as Bucky’s annoying sister. Once Steve had started dating Sharon, you decided it was time to move on. Brock was literally the opposite of Steve - edgy, dangerous, a bad boy, while Steve was that unbelievably nice guy, so nice it was almost tooth rotting. Maybe Steve would never figure out how much you’d been attracted to him if you dated someone that was his complete opposite. And even though sometimes Brock was a jerk, you dealt with it, because you believed he loved you; despite taking three years to propose, despite still not agreeing on a wedding date a year later; you believed he loved you despite the lies, the half-truths, the late nights out, his constant drinking, and his inability to get a job.

“God, I’m an idiot,” you mumbled to yourself. Laying it all out in front of yourself had you wondering if you’d lost your mind, allowing yourself to be treated like that. You really did deserve better.

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you knew, the door was slamming closed, Bucky and Steve’s voices echoing through the apartment. Bucky came over and grabbed your ankle, tugging you down the couch until your ass was hanging off the edge. You kicked him with your free foot, barely missing his crotch, earning you a laugh from Steve.

“Wake up, sunshine,” Bucky ordered. “We’ve got food -” he frowned at the cereal box on the coffee table, “- real food. And then we’re going and getting your stuff. I’ve got boxes in the car.”

“I don’t want to go,” you whined. “What if Brock is there?”

“Then he’s there,” your brother shrugged. “And you’ll tell him it’s over. For good this time. It’s time to put that jerk in his place. Confront him once and for all. No arguments, let’s go.” He gave your leg another yank before turning on his heel and joining Steve in the kitchen.

You glared after him, praying that this time he would burst into flames like you wanted. Of course, he didn’t. With an unhappy sigh, you pushed yourself off of the couch and followed Bucky into the kitchen, sliding into the seat beside Steve.

“Looks like you need this,” he said, setting a beer down in front of you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. You could always count on Steve when you needed a friend.

The three of you ate in silence, you and Bucky staring each other down across the table while poor Steve tried to look anywhere but at the two of you. After a few minutes, you sat forward, your elbows on the table.

“Buck, please,” you murmured. “I’m not...I can’t see him, I just can’t. Not yet, not with the image of him and that woman so fresh in my mind. Please, I’m begging you.” You didn’t want to cry, you really didn’t, but you felt the tears sliding down your face anyway. You plucked a napkin from the stack next to the pizza box and wiped your face. Your hands were shaking and you couldn’t talk above a whisper, fearful that you’d start sobbing again.

Bucky opened his mouth to argue or disagree, but Steve silenced him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Bucky,” Steve said, his blue eyes flashing with some emotion you didn't recognize. “Give her a break. I know you want to watch her tear Brock a new one, but Y/N is hurting. Let her stay here while you and I get her things. She can destroy him later and you can watch. Right, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you nodded, your voice cracking. “Th-that...that sounds -” You swallowed thickly, staring at the top of the table, the napkin pressed to your lips. 

“Okay,” Bucky said. “Okay, sis. I’m sorry. Steve and I will go, get all your stuff. No worries.”

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded. When you caught Steve’s eye a few minutes later, you mouthed “thank you.” He nodded and shrugged one shoulder, patting your shoulder as he walked past you.

He was such a nice guy.

* * *

“Buck, you need to lay off Y/N,” Steve said. “This isn’t easy for her.”

“Brock is an ass,” Bucky muttered. “She needs to let him have it, once and for all. You know I’m right.”

“I know,” Steve sighed. “But it has to be on her terms, when she’s ready. Not because her brother tells her to.”

“You know, if you’d just told her back in college how you feel about her -”

“ _ Felt _ ,” Steve interrupted. “How I  _ felt _  about her. Past tense.”

Bucky shot him a look over the roof of the car as they climbed out. “Uh huh, right,” he scoffed. “If you’d told her how you  _ felt _  in high school, or middle school, or elementary school, or at some point in our lives, we wouldn’t be standing in front of her apartment, ready to move her shit out because she’s forced to live with us, and she wouldn’t be crying herself to sleep at night on our couch. Instead, she’d be  _ gladly _  living with us, sleeping in  _ your _  bed, and a million times happier than she is now.”

“Shut up,” Steve muttered. He waited while Bucky unlocked the front door, several boxes tucked under his arm.

The apartment was eerily quiet, obviously empty. Following the directions Y/N had texted to him, Bucky made his way through the apartment, grabbing what she had called “the essentials” and throwing them in the box in his hand. Steve stopped in the middle of the living room, taking in the scene before him. There were empty beer bottles scattered everywhere, an overflowing ashtray on the coffee table, and dirty socks and shirts piled by the side of a beat up recliner. It was hard for him to imagine Y/N here, in this dark and depressing place; she’d always been such a bright and happy person. It hurt to think that Brock had slowly been stealing that light from her, slowly changing the girl Steve loved into a shadowy version of herself. Thank God she was getting out.

“Steve!” 

“Coming,” he shouted. He followed the sound of Bucky’s voice to the back of the apartment.

Forty-five minutes later, Steve was leaning against the car while Bucky made one more sweep of the apartment. They’d grabbed everything they could, calling Y/N several times to make sure they were looking in all the right places. Bucky was halfway down the patio steps when a loud, obviously drunk voice starting shouting from up the street.

“What the fuck you doin’ here?” Brock yelled, his words slurring. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was in the plastic bag swinging from his fingers. He stopped a few feet from the car, eyeing the boxes stacked in the back. “What the hell are you doing, Rogers?”

“We’re picking up my sister’s things,” Bucky answered, stalking the short distance from the bottom of the steps to where Brock stood. “She’s done with you.”

“She’ll be back,” Brock muttered. “As soon as I can get her to answer her damn phone, I’ll convince her to come back. She’ll forgive me, she always does.”

Bucky shook his head, his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “Not this time, she’s not.”

Brock laughed, an ugly, thick, wicked laugh that made Steve’s skin crawl. “Trust me, she’ll be back. Nobody else’ll fuck her, so it’s just a matter of time before she comes back to the only guy who will.”

Before Steve could so much as flinch, Bucky was launching himself the short distance between himself and Brock, his fist connecting with the man’s chin with a resounding crack. Brock stumbled backwards, falling to his ass and if Steve hadn’t grabbed him, Bucky would have been all over him, most likely choking the life out of him.

Steve shoved him out of the way and pointed to the car behind him. “Get in the car, Bucky! He’s not worth it!”

“Did you hear -”

“I heard it,” Steve replied, his voice low and thick. “Believe me, I heard it.” He wanted to rip Brock’s tongue out and make him eat it, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead, he ushered Bucky into his car, slamming the door harder than he intended, his anger over Brock’s treatment of Y/N barely held in check. Bucky was right, more than right. Brock deserved the fist he’d gotten in the face, but it wasn’t their place to dole out his punishment. That was up to Y/N.

Brock pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his jaw and wincing. “Move Rogers,” he growled, taking a step toward the car.

“Let it go, Rumlow,” Steve said. “You got no less than you deserved.”

“Fuck you, Rogers,” Brock chortled. “You’re loving this. You’ve been mooning over Y/N for years. But don’t get too excited, like I said, she’ll come crawling back to me.”

“Stay away from her,” Steve ordered. “Or you’ll regret it.” He spun on his heel, yanked open the passenger door, and dropped inside, Brock screaming and cursing at him every step of the way. He swore he could still hear him even as the car rounded the corner.


	3. She Loves Him, She Loves Him Not

 

You were sitting in the extra large, overstuffed chair in the corner of the room watching the slightly chaotic goings-on surrounding you. Bucky, Steve, and their friends, Sam and Clint, were in front of the big screen TV - too big for the apartment in your opinion - yelling and cursing at some baseball game. You had no idea who was playing, who was winning or losing, nor did you really care; you were more than happy to just sit back and watch the boys, Steve in particular, having fun. You took another drink from your bottle of beer and checked your phone again. In the last ten minutes, you’d gotten five text messages from Brock, to go along with the ones you’d received earlier in the day. You were trying to decide whether or not to answer them.

“So, how are things going?” Wanda asked, perching on the arm of the chair. “Are you settling in?” The couple of times you’d hung out, you’d noticed her accent thickened after two or three beers. It was definitely thicker tonight.

“I think so,” you shrugged. “As much as one can when living with two single men who sometimes still act like they’re in college.”

Wanda laughed, patted you on the shoulder, and waded into the chaos of the boys watching the game, stopping long enough to whisper something in Sam’s ear. He smiled at her, pointing at the television, obviously explaining what was happening in the game.

Natasha (Nat, you reminded yourself, call her Nat) squeezed into the chair beside you. “They’re a little...overwhelming, aren’t they?”

You nodded, smiling as you watched the boys. It had been a little over two weeks since you’d moved in, and while sometimes things were still a little awkward, for the most part, it was good. You occasionally caught one of them walking around in their underwear, though they’d become better at wearing pants around the apartment; there’d been no more glimpses of wet, naked skin after a shower, which was actually something you regretted when it came to Steve; Bucky kept drinking your orange juice, stealing your frozen lunches, and eating your granola bars; and to your perpetual irritation, you’d learned rather quickly that your twin was a bit of a ladies man. Phone calls, dates, women you barely knew sneaking out of his bedroom early in the morning, so many girls you couldn’t keep track. When you’d ask him about it, he’d just smile and shrug, kiss your cheek, and walk away whistling.

Steve, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a girlfriend. This secretly pleased you, because, even though it made no sense, given your current situation, you didn’t want him to have a girlfriend. A hard knot of jealousy formed in the pit of your stomach at just the thought. You hated to call it jealousy, but that’s exactly what it was, even after all these years you were jealous of any woman Steve gave attention. Even though you knew they were only friends, the first time you’d seen him with Nat, you’d found yourself grinding your teeth together and cringing every time she’d touched him. It had only eased when you’d met Clint, Nat’s fiance. You weren’t supposed to be jealous. Steve wasn’t - and never had been - yours.

Nat dug her elbow into your side, startling you. “Earth to Y/N,” she laughed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “What were you saying?” Your brain had been like swiss cheese since the break-up. You couldn’t remember if you were coming or going, alive or dead, happy or sad. The only thing you knew for sure is that the feelings for Steve you’d held at bay for so long were pushing themselves to the surface, confusing you, making you crazy.

Nat was staring at you, one eyebrow raised, a knowing smile lighting up her face. “Why don’t you just tell him?” she murmured.

“Nat -” you giggled nervously.

“Just tell Steve how you feel,” she demanded. “I don’t understand why you won’t tell him.” 

For a split second, you considered arguing with her, but you knew it wouldn’t do any good. She was perceptive, too perceptive, and she’d figured out about five minutes after meeting you that you were harboring a not-so-secret crush on your brother’s best friend. You’d sworn her to secrecy, which had actually worked to bring the two of you closer; Nat had quickly become your confidant, your best friend in the city.

“You know why, Nat,” you sighed. You downed the rest of your beer and grabbed another one from the table. You needed to get drunk. You needed to dull your senses, to not feel anything.

“Brock was an asshole,” Nat scoffed. “And he’s out of your life for good. Why don’t you go after the good guy for a change?”

“I guarantee you Steve doesn’t see me as anything more than his friend’s stupid sister,” you shrugged. “He never has. I’ve been in love with him forever, Nat. I didn’t even stop loving him when I was with Brock -”

“Who you only started seeing because Steve was dating Sharon,” Nat interrupted.

You sighed heavily. Why had you told Nat your entire life story? It couldn’t possibly have been because of the two pitchers of margaritas you’d shared, or the fact that you hadn’t had a female friend since high school, or that it had felt really good to get everything off of your chest, to talk to someone that didn’t have testosterone raging through them. Or was it all of the above? 

You forced yourself to focus on Nat. “Who I only started seeing because Steve was dating Sharon,” you repeated. “I was so...so goddamn hurt that I just, I don’t know, pushed how I felt about Steve down deep inside of me until I could pretend it didn’t exist.” You rubbed your forehead; you could feel a headache coming on.

“Talk to him, Y/N,” Nat said. “Get it off your chest. At least you’ll know the truth, right?”

Clint let out a loud whoop, drawing Nat’s attention away from you. She shot out of the chair, leaping into her fiance’s arms, giggling as he kissed her neck.

The phone wedged beneath your leg vibrated, again. You snuck a peek at it. Brock. You had just enough time to shove it in your back pocket before Bucky grabbed your hand and dragged you out of the chair. 

“Come on, sis,” he grinned. “Remember when we used to watch the Yankees when we were kids? It’ll be fun, just like old times.”

You grabbed another beer, twisting it open as you watched Steve out of the corner of your eye. “Fun,” you sighed. “Just like when we were kids.” 

* * *

It was after eleven by the time everybody left; first Sam, who’d offered to take Wanda home, then Nat and Clint. Bucky had disappeared before the bottom of the ninth after receiving a phone call from somebody named Dot, leaving Steve home alone with Y/N.

Steve tossed the last of the beer bottles in the recycling can, stacked the empty pizza boxes in the middle of the table, and flipped off the kitchen light. He flopped down on the couch, hugging a pillow to his chest and closing his eyes. He knew he should probably move, give Y/N her “bed,” but since he had no idea where she was, he was going to make himself comfortable until she gave him the boot. Besides, it gave him an excuse to spend some time alone with her when she reappeared.

He’d only been lying there for a few minutes, half asleep, when he heard her, faint, but getting louder by the second. He pushed himself off the couch and followed the sound of her voice, stopping at the sliding glass door leading to the small patio.

“I can’t, Brock,” she muttered. “You don’t understand what you did to me. I can’t get the image of you with that woman out of my head.”

Steve leaned against the wall, one finger holding back the curtain covering the glass so he could see Y/N, listening intently. He hated eavesdropping, but he couldn’t help himself. Both he and Bucky thought that Y/N wasn’t communicating in any way with Brock. Apparently, they were wrong.

“Brock -” she sighed. She snapped her mouth shut, her lips pursed in a tight line, her eyebrows drawn together, the first remnants of tears appearing at the corner of her eyes. She listened for a minute or so, her entire body shaking, though Steve wasn’t sure if it was because she was angry or because she was hurting. Maybe it was both.

“Goddamn it, Brock,” she suddenly cried, her voice echoing through the dark night, carrying through the apartment. “You’re always drunk, you’re always sorry, and you always say it won’t happen again. But it always does. How long have I been putting up with this shit? Too goddamn long. Too long. I don’t deserve this, I’ve never deserved it. I deserve somebody who loves me, who cares about me. I deserve one of the good guys. I deserve somebody like -”

A sob tore out of her, so heart wrenching that Steve felt an ache deep in his bones, the need to protect her nearly overwhelming him. He was going to kill Brock if he ever saw him again.

“Don’t you do that, Brock, don’t you throw that in my face again,” she sobbed. “He has nothing to do with this. I tried, I tried for longer than I should have. I can’t try anymore. I’m done. It's over. Expect the ring back in the next few days.” She stabbed at the phone screen, screaming in frustration when it wouldn’t do what she wanted. 

Steve stepped through the door and snatched the phone from her hand. He could hear Brock squawking on the other end, but he ignored him, hit the end button, and shoved the phone in his pocket. He reached for Y/N, letting her fall into his arms, her face pressed to his chest. He half dragged her, half carried her across the living room, the two of them falling to the couch, tangled together.

He held her as she wept, her arms thrown around him, her body pressed to his, her head tucked under his chin. He rubbed circles on her back, murmuring incoherently, trying to somehow soothe her pain. She was clinging to him like she was a drowning woman and he was her rescuer, and damn if that wasn’t what he wanted, to rescue her from everything and everyone who might hurt her. For now, he’d just be her friend, hold her while she got it all out.

To his surprise, even when the tears tapered off and the sobs became nothing more than hitched breaths, Y/N didn’t move. Instead she laid curled against his side, her forehead resting against his chest, one hand on the back of his neck, her other hand in his, fingers intertwined.

“Thank you, Steve” she sighed. “Thank you for being such a good friend. I love you.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, hugging her closer. “Love you, too.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and closed his eyes.

He wished she knew just how much.

* * *

“Oh my God,” a loud voice squealed. “They’re the cutest couple ever!”

“Shhh, Dot,” Bucky hissed. “You’re gonna wake ‘em up. And sadly, they aren’t a couple. Though they should be.”

Steve opened one eye to see Bucky standing behind the couch, smirking down at him and Y/N, tangled in each other’s arms, her head resting on his chest. Steve shot him a dirty look before glancing down at Y/N. She was still asleep, her hair falling over her face, her fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt. Her breathing was even, steady. She looked content for the first time since she’d moved in with them. 

Bucky wiggled his fingers, waving at his best friend, his grin widening. Steve glared at him and put a finger to his lips. Bucky nodded, put his hands on Dot’s waist and pushed her toward the door, a high pitched giggle leaving her.

“C’mon Dot, I’ll walk you to your cab,” he mumbled, hurrying her out the door. 

Y/N stirred in Steve’s arms, her head coming up, her eyes half closed as the light hit them. “Hi,” she murmured.

“Hi,” Steve replied. He cleared his throat. “You...uh, you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” she smiled. She sat up, pushing her hair off of her face. “Best I’ve slept in weeks. Maybe I should sleep with you all the time.” She giggled, put her hand on his chest, straddling him for a minute as she leaned over him and kissed the corner of his mouth. 

“Thanks again,” she whispered. “Last night was...well, rough. Thanks for being there for me when I needed a friend.” Another kiss and then she was gone, disappearing into the bathroom.

Steve groaned and rolled to his side, hugging the pillow to his chest, willing the feelings, along with the inappropriate situation that had now popped up, to go away. What the hell was he doing? What was she doing to him?

This reminded him too much of college, of waiting around for Y/N to realize he was more than just her twin brother’s best friend, that he wasn’t that skinny little kid she’d known since kindergarten, that he was someone who could love her like she’d never been loved before.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, surprising him. He yanked it free, realizing that the rose gold phone in his hand was not his, but rather Y/N’s. He’d forgotten that he’d taken it from her and shoved it in his pocket last night. A quick glance at the screen showed him a notification for a text message. A text message from Brock.

Steve glanced at the closed bathroom door. Guilt tore through him, but only for a second. He was only trying to protect her. He pressed the button, opening the message.

_ I’m sorry, baby. Let’s talk. Call me, please. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll know it’s over and I’ll leave you alone, I swear. But, I’m begging you to give me a chance.  _

Anger rushed through him, the need to tear Brock apart consuming his every thought. Why couldn’t he just let her go, let her move on? His finger hovered over the delete button.

The bathroom door opened, Y/N emerging, her face freshly scrubbed, glowing, a smile on her face, a smile that reached her eyes for the first time since the break-up. “What’s for breakfast?” she grinned.

Steve hit the delete button and rose to his feet. He held the phone out to Y/N. He forced a smile onto his face, forced his anger with Brock, with everything, down deep inside of himself. 

“I don’t know, what do you want?” he asked.

 


	4. Out On a Limb

“Hey, how’d it go?” Bucky asked before you’d even shut the front door.

You shot a nasty look at your brother, not that it was his fault that you’d had to go return the engagement ring to your now ex-fiance, but you were irritated, on edge, and he was directly in your line of sight.

“It was a shitstorm,” you snapped. “He yelled, he begged, he called me a bitch, and he was an utter and complete ass. He swears he sent me an apology text the other night that I never got. It sucked, Buck, it really sucked.”

“You went alone?” Steve said. “You should have told me, I would have gone with you.”

You scrubbed a hand over your face and took a deep breath. “Steve, was there a message from Brock on my phone the other night?”

You could tell the second the words were out of your mouth that there had been and that he’d probably deleted it; it was a change in his body language, a tightening in his jaw, the clenching of his fist. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again.

“Y/N,” he mumbled. “I was just -”

“- just trying to protect me,” you finished. “When are you and my brother going to figure out that I can take care of myself? I’m a big girl, I don’t need your help.”

“I just thought if you cut him off -”

“That should have been my choice, Steve, mine. Not yours, not Bucky’s, mine. I appreciate that you were looking out for me, but you can’t make those decisions for me. You’ve got to trust me that I can do this.”

“Okay,” Steve murmured. “I’m sorry.” He stared at the floor, his face tight, pinched.

“Y/N, don’t be mad,” Bucky said.

“I’m fine,” you muttered. “I just...I just want to forget today happened.” You slipped off your shoes and jacket, dropping them in the chair as you made your way to the bathroom. “What are we doing tonight?”

“Movie,” Bucky yelled after you.

“It’s not a romantic comedy, is it?” you replied, splashing water on your flushed face. You’d fumed all the way back to the apartment, equal parts angry and sad that your life had taken such a sharp left turn when you’d least expected it, furious that Steve had most likely overstepped his bounds, butted in when he had no right. Three weeks ago you never would have pictured yourself where you were - no fiance, sleeping on your brother’s couch, and falling hard and fast for his best friend, a friend you were mad at.

“I am not in the mood for a rom com!” you reiterated, screaming through the half closed door. Your current mood would not tolerate some cheesy romance playing out in front of you. Not tonight.

“Nope, horror movie,” your brother was equally as loud.

“I hate horror movies,” you grumbled. You scooped a handful of popcorn from the bowl Bucky was holding and shoved it in your mouth, wedging yourself between your brother and Steve, closer to Bucky than Steve, noticing for the first time that the latest, most popular horror movie was cued up and ready to play on the TV screen.

“No you don’t,” Bucky laughed. “You love them.”

“Can’t we just watch another baseball game?” you sighed. “I had fun the other night.” You glanced at Steve out of the corner of your eye, but he was purposefully not looking at you, in fact, he had shoved himself into the corner of the couch, as far from you as he could get. It had been fun, until the fight with Brock. And even though you were angry with him, it didn’t mean you weren’t grateful that Steve had been there; you weren’t sure what you would have done without him.

“There isn’t a game on tonight, unless we want to watch the Mets,” Bucky shrugged.

“Yuck,” Steve interjected, though he still avoided looking at you.

“So horror movie it is,” Bucky grinned.

You were outvoted, so you settled in between the boys, praying that it wouldn’t be that scary. At first, it wasn’t too bad, though the movie was dependent on the “jump scare” tactic. You got through the first couple of scary parts without completely losing it, but when that set of hands came out of the dark and clapped next to the mother’s head, you lost it, screaming and hiding your face against Steve’s shoulder.

He glanced down at you and tried to move further away, though there was nowhere to go. You wrapped your arms around his arm and tugged.

“Nope, get back here,” you said. “You’re forgiven, at least while this stupid movie is on.”

Steve laughed and moved closer to you, his arm sliding around your waist, his hand on your leg. You snuggled closer, your fingers intertwining with his. If anybody could protect you, it was Steve.

You chose to ignore the self-satisfied smirk on your brother’s face and the not-so-subtle thumbs up he gave his best friend when he thought you weren’t looking.

* * *

Another week passed, a week that found you getting more comfortable living with the boys, as well as spending more and more time with Steve. The two of you seemed to gravitate toward each other, something that didn’t bother you in the least. You’d even gone out once, just you and Steve, on what anybody else would have called a date - dinner at a restaurant downtown, then a trip to the museum. It had been fun, the most fun you’d had in a long time. You’d tried not to read too much into it.

If there was one thing that drove you crazy about living with two bachelors, it was the complete lack of decent food in the house. A person could only eat so much cereal, frozen burritos, and poptarts. And, you were sick of eating out, sick of pizza, Chinese food, and sandwiches from the deli on the corner. You wanted real food and the only way you were going to get it was to cook it yourself.

That was why you’d stopped at the store on the way home and grabbed stuff for burgers. You’d even picked up some salad and dressing, something you weren’t sure had ever been in the apartment before you came along. You changed into shorts and a t-shirt, put your headphones on and set to work, dancing around the kitchen barefoot while you cooked.

You were completely absorbed in what you were doing, intent on finishing the food preparation by the time Steve and Bucky walked through the door - Bucky from work, Steve from his evening run. You’d just set everything on the table and grabbed the dressing from the fridge when two fingers tapped your shoulder, startling you.

You screamed, the dressing hitting the floor, the plastic bottle bouncing across the kitchen, sliding to a stop beside the stove. You ripped your headphones from your ears, spinning around to yell at whoever had just scared the shit out of you.

Steve was standing behind you, a bottle of water in one hand, his other hand pressed to his mouth, laughing so hard tears were forming at the corner of his eyes. You went to punch him on the shoulder, but he grabbed your wrist, holding it tightly. He stepped closer to you, trapping you between his rock hard body and the kitchen counter. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, just that damn hoodie, unzipped now that he was in the apartment, a fine sheen of sweat covering him. Your fingers itched to touch him, to flatten your hands on his chest, rise up on your toes, and kiss him.

He towered over you, staring down at you, his tongue swiping across his lower lip. He released your wrist, his hand falling to your waist, leaning closer, time slowing, every second seeming to last a minute, closer, and closer, anticipation heightening every sense, his lips a breath away from yours -

“I smell food!” your brother yelled as he burst through the front door. “What’s for dinner?”

Steve released you, spinning on his heel and hurrying across the apartment, mumbling a low, grumbling ‘hey, Buck,’ in his best friend’s direction.

You sighed heavily. Bucky had impeccable timing.

* * *

“What are you watching?” you asked, sitting on the couch and propping your feet in Steve’s lap.

“World War Two in Color” he replied.

“That sounds boring,” you mumbled.

“It’s not boring, it’s interesting. It’s the history of our world,” Steve scoffed.

“Let’s watch something else.” You reached for the remote.

Steve grabbed it and held it over his head, out of your reach. You lunged for it, throwing yourself across Steve’s lap, stretching to try and get it out of his hand. He switched hands, twisting to keep it out of your reach, sliding to the edge of the couch, so that both of you ended up falling to the floor, you beneath him.

“Thank you,” you giggled, snatching the remote out of his hand.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be,” he chuckled, shaking his head.”Alright, then.”

His hands slid up your sides, just below your ribs, and then he was tickling you, tickling you until you were squealing and squirming, arms flailing, feet kicking, tears falling from your eyes, begging him to stop. He leaned over you, a wicked smile on his face, one hand by your head.

“Give me the remote,” he breathed.

He was so close the tip of his nose was touching yours, your breath mingling with his. You licked your lips, your fingers curling around the back of Steve’s neck, your head coming up off of the floor, stretching, your lips brushing against his.

Steve’s eyes widened, his body shifting as he pushed an arm beneath you, dragging you closer, and then he was kissing you, tentative at first, slow, easy. You sighed, your free hand on the small of his back, urging him closer, the kiss deepening, the world around you fading into the background, until the only thing was Steve and the kiss. The single most perfect, most amazing kiss you had ever experienced.

When it finally ended, far sooner than you wanted it to end, his forehead was resting against yours, his body flush against yours, his arms still around you.

“Was that okay?” he whispered, his lips sliding up your jaw to your ear.

“It was perfect,” you sighed, turning your head and catching his lips in another kiss. “Absolutely perfect.”

Steve smiled, rolled to his side, pulling you with him, still kissing you, still holding you. You could have stayed right there in his arms all night, the thought of all the things the two of you could do making your blood boil.

And you would have stayed there all night, if you hadn’t heard the too familiar sounds of your brother and his latest female friend stumbling up the stairs, raucous laughter and high pitched giggles echoing through the night air.

“Bucky,” Steve shook his head, chuckling low in the back of his throat. “Hell.” He released you, climbed to his feet, effortlessly lifting you and setting you on the couch. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to your lips. “Raincheck?” he murmured.

“Raincheck,” you nodded.

* * *

It had been Bucky’s idea to have the Halloween party, any excuse to invite a bunch of people over and serve them alcohol. Steve had been on board with the idea, as had Y/N, with the stipulation that she got to choose their costumes. He and Bucky had agreed, reluctantly. God only knew what she’d put them in.

Turns out she chose well, bringing home two uniforms circa World War II after raiding the costume closet at the theatre where she worked. She’d also brought home something for herself, shrouded in a dark garment bag, refusing to let either of them look at it.

Steve had been on edge ever since they’d kissed. The sexual tension between himself and Y/N had been tearing him apart; he hadn’t been able to sleep, he couldn’t concentrate on anything, or even think straight when she was in the same room as him. He’d convinced himself that he was imagining things, that kissing her hadn’t changed anything between them, that she was still the unattainable woman.

He was determined to end this, end the constant questions, the constant wondering. He was going to suck it up, suck it up and talk to her, tell her how he felt, find out the truth about her feelings toward him. He couldn’t live in the same apartment as her, couldn’t have her that close all the time, without knowing the truth. Not anymore.

Bucky smacked him on the shoulder, the grin on his face practically splitting it in half.

“What?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” his best friend shrugged. “I’m just glad that you’re going to finally tell my sister how you feel.”

***“You know, most guys want their best friend to stay *** _away***_ from their sister,” Steve grinned.

“Most guys don’t have you for a friend, either,” Bucky laughed. “You’re a good guy, Steve. I’d be crazy if I didn’t want my sister with you.”

“Yeah, well, we still have to see if the feeling is mutual,” Steve shook his head. “Or if she still considers me her brother’s annoying best friend.”

“It’ll be fine,” Bucky said. “You’ll see. I have a feeling everything will work out just fine.” Bucky straightened his tie, then he threw open the door. “Let’s get this party started.”

* * *

“Wow, Y/N, you look gorgeous!” Nat exclaimed as she slipped into the bedroom, closing the door behind her.

“Yeah?” you muttered, smoothing your skirt down, turning side to side in front of the mirror. You’d chosen a blood red dress, forties style, for the Halloween party. You’d spent the better part of the last two hours trying to get your hair and makeup just right, kicking Bucky out of his room so you could get ready in privacy.

“Absolutely,” Nat nodded. “Steve is going to flip.”

You blushed, staring at the floor. You hadn’t wanted to ask if she thought Steve would approve, but as usual, Nat was able to read your mind, knowing what you wanted without even asking.

“What is going on with you two, anyway?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, perching on the end of the bed to slip on your shoes. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together the last couple of weeks, you know, nothing serious, just watching movies or the Yankees and we’ve gone out to eat a couple of times, and one trip to the museum. But it’s not like we’re dating, it’s just friends hanging out.”

“Does Bucky hang out with you guys?” Nat questioned.

“No,” you responded. “Not usually.”

“You two are dating,” Nat stated.

“What? No!” you disagreed. “We’re not dating. I mean, the night we went to dinner and the museum might have been considered a date, but honestly, it doesn’t feel like we’re dating.”

“It doesn’t feel like dating, Y/N, because you two don’t have to go through all that “getting to know each other” crap that you normally have to go through,” she argued. “You’re already comfortable with one another. You kind of slid into fourth or fifth date status, without the sex. Wait, there hasn’t been sex, right?”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head. There’d been the kiss, the perfect kiss, something you hadn’t told anyone about, and the sexual tension between the two of you had been off the chart, not to mention the lingering glances and the not-so-accidental touches, though nothing else had happened. You’d already overanalyzed every second of that encounter, hoping to magically figure out how Steve really felt.

“He doesn’t see -”

“- you like that,” Nat finished, rolling her eyes. “Except I think he does. Clint thinks he does, Sam and Wanda do too. Your brother knows he does. You just can’t see it. Or won’t see it.”

“If Steve has feelings for me, how come he’s never said anything?” you argued.

“Same reason you’ve never said anything to him about how you feel,” Nat said. “Neither one of you will admit the truth, and whenever either of you has been ready to admit those feelings, there’s a Sharon, or a Brock, standing in the way. This time there’s nothing standing in the way.”

Nat was right, of course. There wasn’t anything, or anyone, standing in the way. You hadn’t heard from Brock since you’d returned the ring. It was well and truly over. The only thing holding you back was you. You’d been with Brock for so long you weren’t sure you knew who you were without him running your life. Maybe it was time to stop being afraid and take a chance on the guy you’d loved for more than half your life. Maybe it was time to take a chance on the good guy, to take a chance on Steve.

“Let’s go,” Bucky yelled, pounding on the door. “Party’s starting!”


	5. A Night Not to Remember

 

Steve led you out onto the patio, your hand in his. It was quiet out here, compared to inside the apartment, where fifty plus people were jammed into a tight space with loud music blaring and alcohol flowing. You breathed a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the craziness of the party, if only for a few minutes.

“Okay, what’s up?” you asked, leaning against the railing. “You said you wanted to talk?”

“I do,” Steve nodded. He took a deep breath. “About you and me.”

“Yeah, it’s probably time for that talk, isn’t it?” you sighed. 

“Is that a bad thing?” he mumbled.

“No,” you shook your head, stepping into his arms, smiling up at him. “I want to talk about us. I like the thought of us, Steve.” In fact, you loved the thought of you and Steve, could see you and Steve together forever, but you wanted to take your time, make sure it would last. No rushing in headlong and doing something stupid.

“Really?” he smiled. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” He rested his forehead against yours. “No more Brock?”

“Brock is history,” you said. “I promise.” You rose up on your toes and pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. “But that break up is still really fresh, really new, and it still hurts sometimes. Let’s just take this one day at a time, okay? See where it takes us.” 

Steve nodded, his arms sliding around your waist as he lifted you, his lips on yours, kissing you breathless. Kissing Steve was quickly becoming your favorite thing, and you could have stayed there all night, except Sam and Clint threw open the patio door, loud catcalls filling the air upon discovering the two of you kissing, along with some puking sounds, then they were dragging both of you inside, insisting you rejoin the party. Wanda and Nat descended on you immediately, Nat with a smirk, and Wanda smiling sweetly. They insisted you them make margaritas, while Sam and Clint pulled Steve into yet another discussion about the Yankees pennant hopes next year. 

Of course, word about the two of you spread fast, faster than you could have imagined. You hadn’t been in the kitchen for five minutes, before your brother was leaning against the counter beside you, the world’s biggest, cheesiest grin on his face.

“What is it, Buck?” you sighed.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged. “Just my best friend and my sister, that’s all.”

“Isn’t that supposed to bother you?” you smiled. “I thought big brothers didn’t want their little sisters dating their best friends?”

“Are you kidding?” Bucky laughed. “I’ve been waiting years for this moment.”

You stopped mid-pour, staring at your brother. “What do you mean, years?” you asked.

“You know, years,” Bucky smirked. “You’re the woman he’s been waiting for his whole life.”He popped a chip from the bowl on the counter into his mouth, winked at you, and sauntered away.

You tried to brush off Bucky’s comment, but then Sam and Clint made similar comments, Nat kept joking that she hoped you could live up to your own reputation, even a couple of Steve and Bucky’s co-workers made offhand comments about you being Steve’s ideal woman. By the time the party started to wind down, you were low key freaking out. 

You were sitting in your favorite chair, knees pulled up, downing your fourth margarita, muttering goodbye as the party guests left, the party down to the core group - you, Wanda, Nat, Clint, Sam, your brother, and Steve - when the ribbing started. The main topic was how long Steve seemed to have waited around for you, the general consensus being his whole life.

Sam in particular was on a roll, going on and on about how great things were going to be now that you were a couple, how Steve finally had the woman of his dreams, the woman he’d loved his whole life, how he couldn’t believe Steve finally had the one thing he’d wanted all these years, how everything was going to be perfect now.

“That’s a lot of pressure,” you grumbled to no one in particular, downing the rest of your drink.  You pushed yourself to your feet, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder to steady yourself, the four margaritas, coupled with the anxiety currently raging through you had gone straight to your head. Your head was spinning and your brain was screaming at you, making you feel out of control. Your brother grabbed your elbow, keeping you on your feet. You shook him free and staggered toward Steve.

“Have...have y-you really loved me your whole life?” you stammered.

“What? Steve asked, his blue eyes clouded in confusion.

“Have you really loved me your whole life?” you repeated. “That’s what everybody is saying. That you’ve been in love with me my whole life.”

“Y/N -” Steve murmured.

“I wouldn’t say his  _ whole _  life,” Bucky chuckled. “Just since kindergarten.”

“Not now, Buck,” Steve muttered, glaring at his best friend.

“My whole life, Steve?” you whispered. “You’ve been in love with me since we were kids?”

Steve nodded, just a tip of his chin, but enough to tell you that it was the truth. He took a step toward you, but you put your hand up, stumbling back a couple of steps. You needed to think, to concentrate on what you wanted to say. You couldn’t let him distract you. You’d been sitting in the corner stewing on this for an hour and you were going to say your piece.

“Do you even love  _ me _ , Steve, or do you love the  _ idea _  of me? That unattainable woman, your best friend’s sister, the girl engaged to another man. Is that who you love? Or do you love me, the real me?”

“You, Y/N,” Steve sighed. “The real you.”

“How can you be so sure?” you questioned. “Do you even know the real me?”

Steve froze, his fists clenched at his side, his normally congenial face suddenly twisted in anger. “That’s funny, Y/N. You don’t even know the real you,” he snapped.

“I know what I want, who I want,” you said. “ Can you say that, Steve? Can you stop being afraid for five minutes and just admit how you feel?”

Steve was staring at you, his jaw clenched, staring at you hard enough to drill holes in your face. “I’ve known what I want,  _ who _  I want since I was a kid. I’ve always known.”

“But you were too afraid to do anything about it!” you yelled. “Apparently, you always have been.”

“Because in my head, I will always be that skinny kid from Brooklyn who could never get the girl, never win the fight, never succeed. That will always be me,” he shouted.

“Why can’t you just go after what you want, Steve,” you begged. “You might win for once.”

“Go after what I want?” Steve laughed, the sound bitter, irate. “Like you go after what you want, Y/N?”

“I go after what I want!” you snapped.

“Yeah, right. How do you know what you want? You don’t know who are you.” Steve scoffed.  “You’ve spent the last four years burying the real you so you could stay with a guy who never loved you, never appreciated you, when you could have -”

“Could have what, Steve? Waited around for you to decide to man up and tell me how you feel? Or wait for you while you tried that relationship with Sharon on for size? I was tired of waiting.” You could feel the tears, those goddamn tears, threatening to fall. You thought you’d cried all the tears you could possibly cry and you never thought you’d be crying over Steve, not in a million years.

“Not as tired as I was,” he growled.

You spun on your heel and pushed past your friends, the ones who’d just been subjected to the screaming match between you and Steve, and reached for the door.

“That’s it, Y/N, you should leave, run away, like you always do," Steve called after you.

You froze, gripping the doorknob so tight that your knuckles were white. You dragged in a breath, praying you could hold in the tears for another minute. "Fuck you, Steve," you snarled. You ripped open the door and stormed out, slamming it so hard behind you it didn’t latch, instead swinging back open and slapping against the wall, denting it.

* * *

“Go away, Nat,” you mumbled, shoving your head deeper under the pillow. You didn’t want to talk to her, to anybody. Otherwise you wouldn’t have chased your twin brother away, screaming at him to leave you the fuck alone.

“I’m just leaving you some water and a couple of ibuprofen,” she whispered. “I have a feeling you’re going to need it.”

You expected her to say more, to lecture you, or agree with you, something, but instead you heard the door to Nat’s spare bedroom click closed. You pushed the pillow to the floor and struggled to sit up, fighting with the blankets twisted around your legs. You wiped your eyes with the corner of the bedsheet, grabbed the water and pills, downing them in just a couple of swallows. You leaned back against the headboard, eyes squeezed closed, praying that you could keep both of them down. This was by far the worst hangover you’d had since college. 

Most of the previous night was a blur, but one thing you did remember was the fight with Steve. Just thinking about it made heat rush to your cheeks and your heart race. You were mortified that you’d fought with him in front of all of your friends, that you’d said the things you said, that  _ he _  had said the things he’d said. You were never leaving this room, not if it meant showing your face in front of all of your friends again. Not only were you embarrassed, but you were pissed and hurt. And you were one hell of a hypocrite.

You scrubbed a hand over your face, sliding down the bed until you were buried beneath the blankets again. You’d laid into Steve for not telling you he’d been in love with you for most of his life, when you’d had feelings for him for years, at least since high school. How could you be angry with him when you’d been just as guilty of denying your feelings as he’d been? 

What you couldn’t get past was the fact that he’d purposefully hurt your feelings, said things he knew would rip you apart, would destroy you. The thought terrorized you, made you ache deep in your soul. Not even anything Brock had ever said or done had hurt this bad. 

“Oh God,” you moaned, rolling to your side and pulling the blankets tight around yourself. There was only one reason Steve’s words could hurt you that much, only one reason he could cause pain like that with only a few ill timed comments. 

You were unbelievably in love with Steve Rogers. 

* * *

“She still there, Buck?” Steve muttered.

“At Nat’s and Clint’s? Yeah,” Bucky answered. He tossed his keys on the table and sat down across from Steve. “She’s still pissed, man, really pissed. She’s so  _ angry _ .”

“Maybe I should call her? Go see her?” Steve said.

“No, bad idea,” Bucky shook his head. “She doesn’t want to talk to you and she really doesn’t want to see you. I’ve never seen her like this. I have no idea what to say, what to do. I tried to talk to her, to get her to listen to me, but she was adamant that we - you in particular - stay away from her. She wouldn’t even come out of Nat’s spare bedroom. I had to talk to her through the damn door for the third day in a row.”

Steve groaned, dropped his head to the table, banging it several times. “How am I supposed to fix this?” he mumbled.

“I don’t know if you can,” Bucky shrugged.

Steve shot a glare at his best friend. Bucky was not helping. He didn’t want to hear the truth, he wanted someone to tell him that everything would fine, that he hadn’t lost Y/N forever because he was an idiot. He rubbed a hand over his face, wincing at the two day growth covering it.

“If you’d just told her -”

“Don’t say it,” Steve growled. “Do not say it.”

Bucky leaned over the table, his face drawn tight in anger. “No, Steve, I’m gonna say it. You’ve been sitting on your ass for far too long. You blew it high school, you screwed it up in college when you started dating Sharon -”

“I dated Sharon because I was tired of waiting around for your sister,” Steve interrupted.

“Yeah, and we both know how well that went,” Bucky snarled. “That lasted what, five, six months until she realized that you were head over heels in love with another woman? And while you were trying to get over my sister, she ended up with the world’s biggest asshole.”

“That was not my fault!” Steve yelled, jumping to his feet, shoving the chair backwards so hard it careened into the counter behind him.

“But you could have stopped it,” Bucky snapped, slamming his fist into the table. “She needed you, man, and you blew it. You keep blowing it with my sister and it pisses me off. If there were ever two people in this world that belonged together, it’s you and her.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Steve mumbled. “But I’m not the only one who blew it. I’ve been waiting years for your sister to see me as more than a friend and now I find out she’s had feelings for me since what, at least high school? And she never said anything, either. Instead, we were both idiots who couldn’t get their act together. How’s that for screwed up?”

“It’s seriously screwed up. And you know what? You better figure out how to fix it,” Bucky said. “Because that’s my sister, Steve, and as much as I care about you, I’ll pick her over you, every single time. Because if you don’t work this out, I’m not sure we can be friends. It would be a shitty choice, a damn near impossible one, but if push comes to shove, it’ll be her.”

Struck speechless at Bucky’s declaration, Steve swung around and stalked away, angry tears clouding his vision. He was almost to his room when he hit the corner of the coffee table with his bare foot.

“God! Damn it!” he yelped as the pain radiated up his leg, forcing him to hop a couple of feet on one foot, his fist connecting with the wall beside his door, all of his anger and frustration boiling to the surface and exploding out of him in a rain of drywall dust and paint chips. 

“Great, now we won’t get our safety deposit back,” Bucky said.

 


	6. Hearing Is Believing

 

It had been a week since Steve had seen Y/N, a week since the fight that had ended in the utter and complete devastation of his hopes and dreams. He’d been on a mission to distract himself ever since, working long hours, out running every morning and every night, music playing in his ears at deafening levels to drown out his thoughts.

Tonight had not been any different. He’d worked until after eight, ignoring Bucky’s texts pleading with him to go to Nat’s and try to talk to Y/N. He didn’t see the point, he was sure she’d dismissed him as the second biggest mistake of her life - after Brock of course. He still hadn’t come up with a way to fix things between he and Y/N and he wasn’t sure he could. Bucky was getting more and more irritated with every day that passed. The pressure to do something was mounting.

Ten minutes after he got home, he was out the door again, the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement in sync with the rhythm in his ears working to at least temporarily push all thoughts of Y/N and his screwed up life out of his head. He ran until his heart was pounding, sweat was running down his face and chest, and his lungs were on fire. It was almost eleven when he pushed open the apartment door, heading directly to the refrigerator for a bottle of water.

Steve unzipped his sweatshirt, yanked the earbuds from his ears and flipped on the light over the kitchen sink, barely illuminating the small room. He pulled a water from the fridge, twisted off the top of the bottle, and tossed it in the trash can at the end of the counter. He had only taken a couple of steps when he noticed her.

Y/N was perched on the edge of the couch, head down, elbows on her knees, hair hanging in her face. One leg was bouncing, a nervous tic she had when she was feeling anxious, and her hands were clasped together so tightly that her knuckles were white.

He lowered the water bottle that was three-quarters of the way to his mouth, stopping short of actually stepping from the kitchen into the living room, like there was an invisible barrier between him and the woman he loved. They stared at each other from across the room, neither of them speaking, the tension between them unbelievably thick.

“What the hell are you doing here, Y/N?” he finally asked. 

“Bucky,” she mumbled, licking her lips and rubbing her hands together repeatedly, a couple of other nervous habits she’d acquired over the years. “He’s been bugging me for days, demanding I come over here so we could talk. So, I’m here.”

“I thought you were ticked off, didn’t want to talk to any of us again?” Steve said. “Especially me.”

“No,” she shook her head, “I’m embarrassed. I can’t believe we fought like that in front of our friends. I can’t believe the things we said to each other. And I can’t believe that we are two of the stupidest people on earth.” She rubbed a hand over her face and gnawed on her lower lip, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Wh-what?” Steve stammered.

Y/N pushed herself off the couch and took a couple of steps towards him, her arms crossed, hugging herself, another thing Steve recognized from their childhood. She was protecting herself, closing herself off from other people, something she did when she was feeling especially vulnerable. She refused to look at him, staring at a spot on the floor between them.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I freaked out. I freaked out when I found out you’ve had feelings for me for years. I freaked out because I don’t think I can live up to the image of me you’ve most likely created in your head. I’m just me, Steve. I want you to love me, the real me.”

Steve shook his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “I  _ know _  the real you, Y/N,” he argued. “I’ve seen you at your best and I’ve seen you at your worst. I saw you in unicorn t-shirts and bright purple shorts, I saw you when you were so sick you that you had to sleep on the bathroom floor covered in one of your grandmother’s quilts; I saw you when you’re falling down drunk and stone cold sober; I saw you kick your brother’s ass at Scrabble, I saw you with chocolate ice cream all over your face, and I saw you with that awful pixie cut and braces you had in sixth grade.”

Y/N blushed, shaking her head. “Steve -” she sighed.

He closed the distance between them, his hand cupping her cheek, forcing her to look up at him. “I saw you on prom night when you looked so gorgeous it made my heart stop. I saw you the day we graduated high school, all nervous and giggly and telling your brother that you were going to start calling him James because ‘Bucky’ sounded too immature. I saw you in college when you started dating Brock because I was an idiot trying to run away from his feelings. You’re the only woman I’ve seen for twenty years, even when I tried not to. I’ve seen you enough to know that I am in love with you, Y/N, every single thing about you.”

“Stop,” she breathed, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Steve shook his head, his arm slipping around her waist, pulling her flush against him, leaning over her, his lips just brushing hers. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Not until you know that I’m in love with  _ you _ . The real you.”

She grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled in a breath so ragged, Steve felt it in his core. “I'm in love with you, too,” she admitted. Finally. After all these years. It felt as if a weight had been lifted with her proclamation.

Steve’s hand slipped into her hair, the smile still on his face even as his lips met hers, her mouth opening to let him in, his tongue sliding against hers, their breath mingling, bodies pressed together. He lifted her, her legs sliding around his waist, her arms around his neck. The kiss deepened, the passion between them fueled by the years of denying their true feelings. Steve crossed the room in two long strides, hit the bedroom door with his shoulder, and stepped inside, his lips never leaving hers. He lowered her to her feet and kicked the door shut.

 


	7. Epilogue

**_Six Weeks Later_ **

“Morning, Buck,” Y/N mumbled as she made her way from Steve’s bedroom - correction, their bedroom - to the bathroom.

“Hey,” Bucky replied. No matter how happy he was that Steve and his sister were finally together, he was never going to get used to seeing her walking around in Steve’s t-shirts, or used to seeing them acting all couple-y whenever they hung out, and he would definitely never get used to hearing the two of them through the very thin apartment walls. It had gotten so bad he’d finally had to talk to Steve; that had been an unbelievably awkward conversation; just remembering it made him want to scrub his brain out with bleach.

“You’re up early,” Steve said, interrupting Bucky’s thoughts. Thank God.

“Work,” Bucky shrugged, glancing at his best friend out of the corner of his eye. “Stark called a meeting at eight. I have to catch the early train if I want to make it.” He grabbed a coffee cup from the cupboard and tossed it to his best friend, who caught it with one hand.

“You want to go get dinner with us tonight? You could bring that girl, what was her name? Dot?” Steve grinned as he poured a cup of coffee. He set it on the table with a couple of sugar packets and some creamer.

“Yeah, that’s history,” Bucky shook his head.

“What’s history?” Y/N asked. She jumped up on the counter, legs swinging, giggling as Steve stepped between her legs, his arms sliding around her, his nose nuzzling her neck.

“Apparently, Bucky’s love life,” Steve chuckled.

“Ha ha, very funny,” Bucky muttered. He dropped his coffee cup in the sink and waved goodbye over his shoulder, his briefcase in one hand, phone in the other.

He needed to go; he couldn’t stomach another minute with his sister and his best friend, they were just too disgustingly cute and after breaking up with yet another girlfriend last night, in this case the aforementioned Dot, he couldn’t deal with it. It was easier to go to work than pretend that their happiness didn’t irk him a little bit.

If he was being honest with himself, a large part of him was jealous that his sister had found someone to love before he did. It was compounded by the fact that she’d fallen in love with his best friend, making him doubly jealous. He was starting to think he’d never find love.

Bucky slammed the door harder than he’d intended, nearly dropping his phone in the process. He juggled it, finally securing it in one hand, only to have it go off. He sighed when he saw the email notification from Pepper. It was going to be a long day.

He was so intent on reading what was on the screen that he didn’t see her until it was too late, the quiet girl that lived a couple of doors down from them, the one that always had a book tucked under arm, the one that scurried away any time they made eye contact. He slammed into her, hard enough to make her stumble back several steps, the bag in her hand hitting the ground and bursting open, books going everywhere.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized, dropping to one knee, scooping up several books. His fingers brushed against hers as they reached for the same book, an electric shock jolting him at her touch.

She yanked her hand backwards, wincing as if she’d been bit. She murmured ‘thank you,’ took the book, and stacked it with the others before rising to her feet.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m fine,” she nodded, refusing to make eye contact with him. She picked up her books, spinning on her heel and rushing back to her apartment.

“At least let me help you,” Bucky called after her. 

“No, really, I’m fine,” she repeated, jostling the books in her arms as she struggled to unlock her apartment door. “You...you have a good day.” She stepped into her apartment, slamming the door closed behind her.

“Perfect,” Bucky muttered, “now the women are  _ literally _  running away from me.” He ran a hand through his hair and started down the stairs. “Just perfect.”


End file.
